


The Viper Among Wolves

by ViridianChick



Category: Captive Prince - S. U. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe, Aphrodisiacs, Light Bondage, M/M, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 17:49:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 16,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2237988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViridianChick/pseuds/ViridianChick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Updated with an exciting announcement!)</p><p>AU. Upon his eighteenth birthday, Prince Laurent of Vere is stripped of his title and sent to Akielos as a pleasure slave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Presentation

His captors kept their blades well hidden. They did not drag him, nor was he bound, but Laurent knew: one false step and they would slice his hamstrings, then carry him, bleeding, to his new master. They brought him to the royal palace of Akielos, where he knelt in a small throne room. 

The prince, Laurent thought, was precisely the sort of man a good slave ought to enjoy serving. He was entirely one color: dark-eyed, dark-haired, dark-skinned. He was larger than any other man present, his muscled body sitting straight-backed in his throne. The prince's eyes slid over him. 

They had dressed Laurent like a prince, not a fuck toy. Cuffs — a lacework of gold — clasped his wrists, his ankles, half-hidden by trailing Veretian cloth. Exotic, said the woman who had dressed him. She could have put him Akielon clothes. Laurent would have preferred that. 

He was meant to be an insult. He had studied Akielon slaves once he had found out he was going to be one; they were kind, quiet, and submissive. As the eyes of the court fixed on him, he thought of making a crude gesture — he vividly imagined killing them. He would have, if he could have. But in that moment, the only person Laurent hated more than his captors was his uncle, and he would not give his uncle the satisfaction of getting himself killed. Pristinely, he lowered his head and bowed in the Akielon way, then held there, allowing his hair to curtain his face. 

Whispers of approval went through the court. “Rise,” said Damianos in Akielon. 

Laurent straightened. 

“Is it traditional in Vere for princes to become slaves?” Damianos’s voice was dry. 

“No,” Laurent said curtly. 

“Your uncle is quite generous.” 

Laurent picked through the words in Akielon, then slowly put them together aloud. “It was a condition of Vere’s surrender. I, the second son, come here to serve to serve you, Prince Damianos, as however you see fit. A gift of good faith.” 

“A hostage,” Damen said, “to ensure Vere will not attack again.” Laurent winced. In Vere, such truth wouldn’t be spoken so openly. “My father has seen fit to make you my bed slave.” 

Laurent felt his body go rigid. His veins turned to ice. On the outside, he did not allow his expression to change. 

Damianos said, “A formality, nothing more. My father seemed to think it would be the best place to keep you — it means you will lounge all day, have a life of simplicity and luxury.” 

How kind, Laurent thought. He would be treated nicely before the prince brutalized him. “Your Highness,” Laurent said. “I look forward to serving you.” 

“Please,” Damianos said. “Call me Damen.”


	2. Visitation

It would advantageous, Laurent told himself, to fuck the prince. Better to do it now willingly than to resist and end humiliated and bruised.

It was sex. It required nothing more than lying still and being naked. Pets in Vere held power, real power, because their masters desired them and listened with unguarded ears. And Laurent, a strategist, could not deny himself that advantage. Yet he also could not deny his revulsion.

After nightfall — when the halls were dim-lit with lamps, somnolent lovers trailing between bedrooms, resting on benches — an escort arrived at his door. A submissive blonde slave with large, soft eyes and painted lips. “The crown prince requests your presence in his chambers,” she said.

“No,” Laurent said, and shut the door.

A ridiculous gesture. The door locked from the other side. Audacity alone kept it closed. Apparently, the female slave was too taken aback — or perhaps too intimidated — to open it once more. He supposed he was neither a good slave nor a good strategist.

He sat still when — not long after — the door swept open again. The crown prince stood there, mouth thin and tight with anger, his shoulders set. He wore not bedclothes, but the clothes of court. Doubtless he had expected Laurent to undress him that night. Laurent unfolded himself from his couch and set aside his book. “Get up,” Damianos said. “Good. Now on your knees.”

Gracefully, Laurent knelt. On one knee.

“Do you think I like this anymore than I do?” Damianos said. “I have heard of your reputation. I already have bed slaves, all of which are sweeter than you. I sent Lykaios to bring you to me because it would be good for appearances — and now you have sent her away, forcing me to come here. If you can’t obey basic orders, I’ll send you to peel potatoes in the kitchen. At least you’ll be of use there.”

“Ah,” Laurent said. “So I’m required to be sweet as well as pliable. When you finish raping me, shall I shine your boots, or am I only required to thank you?”

Damianos took a step back. He looked as if he had been slapped. “Rape you?”

“I was brought to Ios,” Laurent said, making his tone quite precise, “so you could fuck me.”

A pause. The prince considered him, examining his body. Laurent felt as if his skin had turned to ice. His pulse was a thin, rapid shudder in his chest. Damianos beckoned him to stand, and Laurent rose to his feet. A hand pressed against his chest and held there as if feeling his heartbeat. It took every ounce of Laurent’s willpower not to move.

His gaze rose. The prince was looking at him. He felt his lips pull back from his teeth. The prince’s hand fell, and without another word, he left. 


	3. Aphrodisiac

With his master’s apparent disinterest in fucking him, Laurent found his function consisted mainly of decoration. The king held a small banquet for visiting dignitaries; Laurent stood at the prince’s elbow and served him wine. Nikandros of Delpha came to advise Damianos on some matter or another; Laurent sat prettily on a bench and peeled grapes. Courtiers often peeked at him from the corners of their eyes, whispering behind their hands. Word of his chastity spread through the palace like wildfire, and the contrast between himself and the crown prince -- who was, apparently, quite a whore -- seemed to fascinate the foul-minded servants. 

Laurent’s only regret was that he could not eviscerate them in public.

He amused himself by finding other forms of torture. He pushed opposites into poorly thought out relationships. He engaged them in conversation and picked at their flaws, gave them wounds that festered for days.

The game turned nasty in little time.

During a banquet, a blonde noblewoman approached him. She followed him. Chatted with him. Lay her hand on his thigh when he sat, laughing when he seized her wrist and moved it away. When he visited a balcony to get some air and be alone, she appeared again. She pressed him against the wall. "You're a slave," she whispered, standing on her toes to speak in his ear. "You can't deny me." Laurent shoved her.

It was a mistake.

Her lip curled. She swept up her skirts and left. He waited for Damianos to come chide him, but the prince never appeared. In time, the woman returned. "Forgive me," she said. "I did not meant for you to take offense."

Her apology was coated with honey. Laurent looked at her and said, "No offense was taken that was not given." 

She fanned herself. "So good to hear. Here, you look flushed." She offered him a glass of chilled wine, and, unthinking, he took it. She watched him until he took a mouthful, then, smiling, left. 

Within minutes, he felt warm. Within ten, his skin felt flushed, sensitive. The party wound down. Akielon women unclasped their elaborate tops and went bare-breasted, enjoying the cool summer night. Laurent found himself watching them. He felt his body, unwillingly, begin to react.

He studied the goblet he had been given. A pink residue coated the rim. 

... Tomorrow, he would kill that woman. 

But he needed to survive this night first. He found Damianos relaxing in the garden, surrounded by admirers. Laurent slipped between them and leaned to speak in the prince’s ear. “Master, may I retire for the night? I feel unwell.”

Damianos took a long draw of wine, then, languidly, rose from his seat. Laurent took a step back, feeling the drug racing through his system, quickening his pulse. He was suddenly — painfully — aware of the way the prince moved, his muscled grace, his easy stretch. “Take me to bed, slave. You may retire afterwards.”

Laurent felt as though he would die.

Each step brought new sensation — the cool breeze through winding hallways, the feel of cloth on his skin, itching. Courtiers traded glances as they passed, whispering, sliding Laurent perverse smiles.

He would get through this, he thought as the door opened. He would not let that woman win. He looked up, and he saw that Damianos was staring at him, eyebrows raised. “Well? Undress me.”

Laurent's skin crawled the same way it had before, the last time he and the prince had been alone together. Now he felt heat as well, an animalistic urge pounding in his skull. He shook his head. Staying across the room from Damianos took an act of sheer willpower.

Damianos moved towards him, frowning.

The prince had not touched him since that first night. Now he reached out to touch Laurent’s forehead — for temperature, perhaps — and Laurent caught his wrist. He could not fit his hand around the entirety of it; it was too large. His grip was tight, and he became very aware that Damianos was larger than him, much larger, and somehow that thought sent a shudder of unwilling heat through him. He held Damianos back only because Damianos let him.

He could hear his own shallow breathing. Could feel the prince's gaze slowly move across his body. “You took a drug,” Damianos said slowly. He began to grin. “A bit too much, it seems. Who told you I had a fondness for it?”

“I didn’t drug myself,” Laurent bit out. “One of your nobles did it. Doubtless she thought it funny.” Or she had meant to corner him again. He let go and backed away, far away to a window, leaning out. He breathed in the air. He listened as Damianos sent away the guards at the door. The door clicked as it locked. Laurent's stomach twisted into a knot. 

He thought of Damianos forcing him against the bed, he thought of Damianos methodically unlacing his clothes, he thought of Damianos opening him up and shoving inside. It would hurt. It would burn. Laurent’s nails bit into his palms. His skin felt like that of a ripe fruit - thin, ready to split. Over-warm.

Damianos said, “Lay on the couch.”

“Why the couch?”

“Because,” Damen said, arranging himself on the bed. “I’d like to keep my bed.”

Laurent stared at him in utter confusion.

“You entice me about as much as a frightened deer," Damianos said. "I'm not going to fuck you." 

“I’m not a frightened deer,” Laurent said.

“No, you’re not. You’re a viper. Either way, I’m not putting my dick in you. Would you like a woman? I know several who’d cheerfully tumble you.”

“No. I — ” Laurent tried to keep the surprise out of his voice. “No, I don’t want anyone.”

“I get that impression,” Damianos said. A long silence.

Then he said, “You’d best stay here for the night. You’ll be safe in my rooms.”

"Safe," Laurent said. 

They stared at each other. Laurent unlocked the door and left. As he went, he felt Damianos's eyes on him the entire time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who the blonde woman is! She'll show up again later. She and Laurent don't get along. 
> 
> This has been enjoyable to write, and I'm glad to hear there are people enjoying it. I normally write original fiction, so doing fanfiction is a very odd experience. Certainly more challenging, in some ways. Laurent is so... in control.


	4. Auguste

To escape would be pointless. His uncle would only send him back. Damianos allowed him to go where he pleased, provided he kept a guard with him. He was allowed to take books from the library, provided he returned them. He spent most of his time in a small gazebo in the back of the orchard, where he was difficult to find and Damianos couldn’t send for him. He passed the time by imaging what life would be like if Damianos were his pleasure slave — the ways he’d torment Damen, the ways he’d humiliate Damen. When that grew boring, he planned imaginary campaigns where he was the crown prince of Vere, fighting a civil war against his uncle.

In the midst of an imaginary sword fight, a soft cough interrupted his thoughts. Damianos sat down beside him. He said, “My father insists I make sure you are comfortable.”

“How kind of him.”

Damianos said, “I hear your brother Auguste is to be crowned King of Vere soon. How long has Vere been without a king? Six years, now?”

“Since the battle of Marlas,” Laurent said, “when you barbarians murdered my father.” Auguste had refused his coronation, choosing instead to lead his armies as crown prince, letting their uncle take the title of Regent in his absence from the capital.

“I was on the field at Marlas,” Damianos said. He touched the scar on his arm. “I fought your brother. I admit, I’m pleased I didn’t manage to kill him. He’s… a fair man. Congratulations on his ascendance to the throne. I hope he’ll prove to be a less dangerous ruler than your uncle.”

“Likely,” Laurent said.

“Are you reading in our tongue? You can study all you like, but if you truly want to improve your Akielon, you should speak it more often.”

“I have nothing I wish to say,” Laurent said slowly and precisely.

“Say anything.”

“Go away,” Laurent said.

“There you go,” Damianos said. “Your accent is getting better already.” His mouth was faintly curved, seemingly without his volition. With a brief glance back, he left.

Things were simpler in Vere, Laurent thought, watching Damen go. Pets exchanged sex for money. That's what sex was: a form of control. The most bizarre thing about Damen was that Damen had all the power, but seemed to have no desire to use it. Laurent thought briefly of his uncle. It was… easier to relax, here. He had almost begun to stop hating Akielons. At the very least, he hated them less than the Regent.

That night, Laurent took out pen and parchment. In Veretian, he wrote,

_Auguste —_

_Be careful of Uncle. He’s been Regent for far too long in your absence._

Laurent paused. He put pen to paper, watched ink bleed. He wrote:

_Damianos is more tolerable than Uncle. So far I haven’t seen him fuck a single scullery boy._

He handed the letter to a servant outside his door and went to bed. That night, Damen did not call on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whee. We've gotten from "Damianos" to "Damen." Baby steps, Laurent. Baby steps.


	5. Jokaste

He wasn’t sure when Damianos had become Damen in his mind, but it happened somewhere between summer and fall. He had arrived in spring, and by the time the cherry blossom leaves had turned gold and orange, Damen’s large presence felt entirely too normal.

He was a great deal like Auguste. Both were guileless. It was why, at last, Laurent spoke to him, spending long hours picking over Akielon politics. To hear Damen speak of it, Akielos was free of intrigue; all Akielons were honest and straightforward, and the courtiers and nobles all had their subjects’ best interests at heart. “Vere,” Damen told him, “sounds like a very confusing place. I can’t imagine how you keep up with who is trying to kill who.”

Damen was as sweet and blind as a newborn babe. Every man had ambition, and ambition coupled with intelligence and power led to intrigue. It was as natural as knowing that a seed left in soil would grow roots. Akielos had liars and traitors just as Vere did.

The blond noblewoman who had drugged him was named Jokaste. Laurent learned that name the day he came to Damen’s chambers to find her tangled in the golden sheets of his bed, hair like curled shavings of gold upon the pillows.

She was beneath his attention. He told himself that repeatedly. He heard stories of her throughout court — that she had stolen Damen’s attention for months, that she had the admiration of half the court and both princes, that surely she would be queen soon. He came across her, twice, leaving Kastor’s room.

For all her faults, he would have let her be. But one morning he rose and made his way to Damen’s room — as the good, obedient slave he was pretending to be — and found her there in Damen’s bed again. As Laurent set down Damen’s morning tea, she said, “Damen, I heard a rumor that you haven’t made use of your slave yet.”

She spoke as if Laurent were not present. On the other side of the bed, Damen said, “I make use of plenty of slaves.”

Jokaste’s voice was coy. “You know which I mean.”

Coolly, Laurent leaned against the dresser where he set the tea and looked exactly at Jokaste. She met his eyes without flinching. Damen got up from the bed, pulling on his pants. “Laurent is uninteresting to me,” he said.

“Uninteresting? Ah, I forgot how much you abhor light-skinned blonds.”

“Hair color,” Damen said, “is one piece of a complicated emotion. Laurent is like… a painting. The painting is pretty, but I have no desire to fuck it.”

“Perhaps you could watched while I fucked the painting,” Jokaste said.

“Kinky,” Laurent said.

Damen rubbed the back of his neck and said nothing, looking embarrassed. Laurent decided then and there: Jokaste had to go.

 

For an Akielon, she was good. Laurent took great pleasure in planning her demise.

He began by convincing her of Damen’s trust in him. He stayed by Damen’s side constantly; in jousts, he armored Damen; at banquets, he charmed Damen’s guests. Damen shot him confused looks more and more often.

Laurent took to slipping into Damen’s room before the prince woke, laying out the prince’s clothes for the day — something that, previously, Damen had done for himself.

After that, he would rumple his clothes, ruffle his hair, and escape— just early enough that servants walked the halls. Each time, he faked a smile. His imaginary sex life was the talk of Ios.

The blackmail began quite casually. He slipped Jokaste a note claiming that he knew of her indiscretion with Kastor. It would be a shame, the note said, if Damen found out. And Laurent was quite close to Damen.

She called him to her chambers that night. High color in her cheeks, she said, “You can’t blackmail me. Damen won’t believe you over me.”

“Won’t he?” Laurent said.

There was a significant pause as they stared at each other. Damen would not, in fact, believe Laurent over Jokaste. Laurent knew that.

“What do you want from me?” she said slowly.

“Chalis from Vere,” Laurent said.

She seemed taken aback. “Chalis is illegal in Akielos. Very illegal.”

“I miss it,” he said. “You’re a smart woman, aren’t you? You have a week to get it for me. As much as you can.”

It was precisely the kind of bait he knew she’d take. Drugs were made to be consumed; a steady supply was required. If she fed him a steady trickle, that gave her power over him. Laurent saw calculation flash across her face, then fade into a smirk. “Done,” she said.

And then all he had to do was wait.

 

Laurent did nothing by halves. He had to discredit her completely. Once he had the chalis, he waited until yet another banquet took place, and while the party wound down, he slipped away and found his way to her chambers. The door was locked and guarded. With a coy smile, he insinuated that Lady Jokaste had requested he go to her chambers and wait for her. The guards believed him and opened the door.

Most of the chalis, he left under her bed. A touch he left on her bedside table. In the folds of her sheets he left a cloak pin belonging to Kastor.

After that, there was little to do but help Damen into her chambers. He went back to the banquet, then waited for Jokaste to retire. Once she did, he found Damen, then bent to murmur in his ear that Lady Jokaste had asked for him to come to her chambers. Right then.

Damen downed the rest of his wine, then left, grinning. Laurent went to his room, slipped into bed, and waited.

In the morning, the servants spoke in excited whispers. Gossip was abound. Prince Damianos had thrown Lady Jokaste from the palace. He refused to say why, but two guards had overheard their argument the previous night: Damen had called her a drug-addled whore.

There was nothing she could say. A small crime and a scandal. No one would believe she had been framed, not even Damen.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to Kilerya for providing me with the name of the Veretian drug from the books.


	6. Erasmus

With Jokaste gone, Laurent almost began to like Akielos. In Akielos, there were no suitors plying him with ill-composed poetry. In Akielos, no one called him frigid, prudish, or wondered aloud about the size of his dick, because in Akielos everyone thought him the property of the infamously territorial crown prince.

He understood Akielon perfectly now. The servants had quite a bit to say, especially those that thought Laurent still deaf. Apparently, he and Damen had fucked in every room of the palace. The days Damen missed breakfast, it was because they had fucked through the night. One day Laurent had a cramp, and the next day he heard rumors about that, too. “You know,” Laurent said to Damen one morning, “they say your cock is so large that I’ve begun to limp constantly.”

Damen looked startled. “My what is — you’ve begun to what?”

“That’s what I said.”

“You don’t limp.”

“I had a cramp,” Laurent said. “Once.”

“If it bothers you…”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Laurent said.

Truth mattered little. Perception was more important, and Laurent didn’t see anything inherently dangerous about the rumors. Mostly, they were amusing. No, what worried him was Damen. The way Damen had begun to look at him — softly, sweetly, as if he had forgotten that Laurent really wasn’t sleeping with him.

The trouble resolved itself in short order. With the expulsion of Jokaste, Damen grew restless, and soon the Master of Slaves sent a new slave to serve the prince. Laurent found him in Damen’s chambers, lying sex-sated upon the coverlet, arm trailing over the side.

The slave peeked up through long lashes. Laurent felt a chill. The slave looked a great deal like him: fair-skinned, hair the color of burnished gold. Involuntarily, he took a step back. “Oh,” said the slave. His voice was the murmur of water in a brook. “You’re Laurent. If it pleases you, sir, this one is Erasmus.”

Laurent’s hackles rose. “If it pleases me, that one is Erasmus? What if it doesn’t please me? Would that one be something else?”

Color rose in the slave’s face.

“Laurent,” said a voice behind Laurent. Laurent jumped a little, then glanced back. Damen leaned against the door-jam. Despite Erasmus’s state of complete nudity, Damen was immaculately dressed. Laurent wondered whether he had dressed immediately after fucking Erasmus or simply left his clothes on during the act. Or perhaps he hadn’t fucked Erasmus recently; perhaps he just went about his day normally, and Erasmus waited in his rooms, naked and prepared for use. Vividly, he could imagine all scenarios.

“Are you bothering Erasmus?” Damen said.

“I am bothering that one, yes.”

“Go,” Damen said.

“Fine,” Laurent said, and he went.

 

Good, he told himself, good. Now he didn’t have to spend the rest of the day with Damen following him around. Now he wouldn’t have to tolerate Damen’s long, lingering looks. Now when Laurent went to bed without being summoned to Damen’s chambers, it was not because Damen was holding back, but because Damen was already busy with another slave.

He returned to his room that night to find the Master of Slaves, Adrastus, waiting for him. In cool tones, Adrastus informed him that changes had been made. Numbly, Laurent sat down as Adrastus began to list them off.

Laurent no longer needed a guard to follow him around. Laurent could leave the palace, if he wished, provided he took at least two members of the Prince’s Guard with him and he remained in Ios. Laurent was to be given a small sum of gold each month to spend as he pleased. Did Laurent understand? “Yes, I understand,” Laurent said, and Adrastus left.

Laurent didn’t understand. Not a bit.

Now he spent his days entirely free of the prince. Now he spent his nights thinking about Damen bent over a fair-haired slave, pushing inside, muffling groans with the palm of his hand, his body clenched tight with exertion —

Laurent rolled over in bed, pressed his face to the pillow, and willed himself to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bumping this up to an explicit rating now, just to play it safe. And this way I don't have to bump it up the moment I post a sex scene. :) 
> 
> Thanks to all who have hit that "kudos" button, and all who have commented. It means a great deal.


	7. Sparring

“I need a hobby,” Laurent said to Damen the next day. He had to track down Damen just to talk. The prince seemed to be avoiding him.

“A hobby,” Damen said. “Don’t you read?”

Laurent gritted his teeth. “I’ve memorized half your history books and planned three campaigns to conquer Akielos — two to conquer Vask. Shall I sit about all day growing fat like your father? How do you stay so fit? Do you spend all day fucking?”

Damen grinned at him.

“Well, good for you, but those of us that aren’t whores have to actually work to keep our physique,” Laurent said.

“Fucking is work,” Damen said. Then: “You think I’m fit?”

“If you were my slave,” Laurent said, “I would keep you chained to my throne like a tiger.”

“Like a tiger,” Damen said.

“To keep away people who annoy me.”

“I suppose you think I’d act tame for you and you alone.”

“I doubt you’d act tame for anyone,” Laurent said. “Damen. I need some sort of physical activity.”

“You’re like a puppy,” Damen said, amused. “If I leave you bored and unexercised, will I come home to a destroyed court one day? Will you eat my couch, or just pick fights with my courtiers?”

“Both,” Laurent said. “May I go riding?”

Damen arched his eyebrows. “May you get a horse, leave the palace, and ride unattended through the wilderness? You, the hostage? No.”

“I have no reason to run — ” Laurent bit off his own argument. “Fine. Can I spar?”

“Spar?” Damen said, sounding bemused. He managed to pack a great deal of meaning into that single word. First, that he doubted that Laurent had ever held a sword in his life. Second, that Laurent was small, easily bruised, and prone to impatience. Third, that no man in his right mind would give his unwilling bedslave a sharpened weapon.

“Yes,” Laurent said.

Damen rose from his seat, grinning lazily. “Alright. Let’s spar.”

 

He hadn’t expected Damen to be his sparring partner. In fact, it was the stupidest idea he’d ever heard. Allowing a disgruntled fuck slave to swing a sword at the second most important man in Akielos — typical Damen.

Damen fought the same way he acted. He began by going easy on Laurent, defending only, rarely attacking, watching little — convinced of his own superiority, obviously thinking his size an advantage. Laurent went along with it for a few moments before coolly disarming Damen with a flick of his wrist.

Damen’s wooden practice sword clattered into the dust. Those who shared the practice court with them — a few members of the Prince’s Guard, two nobles, and Erasmus — all paused what they were doing and looked over. Frowning, Damen bent and picked up his sword.

The second bout took more time. Damen did not go easy on Laurent. Now it was clear: Damen would like to win, but humble man that he was, he would rather not humiliate Laurent. It was sweet. It was kind. Laurent disarmed Damen again, this time bruising Damen’s knuckles.

A longer silence, this time. The two nobles stopped their practice and came over to watch. Laurent said, “When I first met you, I thought you harmless. I see now I was right.”

“I’m not harmless,” Damen said.

“Prove it,” Laurent said.

He could feel his blood pounding in his ears, an odd taste in his mouth, a fine sheen of sweat layering his skin. It was exhilarating. Damen came at him harder this time. There, now this was how he wanted it. This was how they both wanted it. Neither of them had anywhere close to the same style — Damen was hard, direct, fearless. His skill carried him, his sheer determination. Laurent wove around his attacks, anticipated them, and, in time, began to turn them against him.

There were lulls in the battle, and Laurent became aware of Damen watching him — always watching him. They were circling each other, now. Conserving their energy. “You have no finesse,” Laurent shot at him.

Damen said, “You overreach yourself. You think you can beat me with a thousand clever little strategies?”

“Watch me,” Laurent said.

“You’ll bind yourself in knots,” Damen said.

Damen bound Laurent in knots. He was nothing like a Veretian, and yet, somehow, he was not inferior. The last clash of the battle broke Laurent’s sword. The wood splintered at the crossguard. Damen backed away, own sword still in hand, breathing hard. They stared at each other. Unless Laurent wanted to shank Damen with the broken pieces, the match was over.

Damen threw his sword aside. Laurent dropped his and ducked as Damen threw a punch. Laurent swept a kick at Damen’s ankles, and Damen tumbled down. Their legs caught together, and Laurent went down as well. He could have stopped himself. He should have stopped himself. Instead he lay on the dirt, half on top of the crown prince of Akielos. Damen was completely still beneath him, frozen. Laurent pushed himself up and said, “I win.”

“You win?” Damen said. “I’m bigger than you. We’re on the ground. I could snap your neck in less than a second.”

“And yet, here I am,” Laurent said. “On top.”

The guards began to whistle, laughing, a few shouting raunchy suggestions. The nobles began to clap, and soon the guards joined them. With as much dignity as he could manage, Laurent untangled himself. He glanced aside and found Erasmus staring at Damen, looking lost and hurt. Laurent winced. The guards clapped Laurent on the back as he left.

 

He went to bed that night exhausted, and he dreamed of his match with Damen. He woke up hard, sweating, heart beating like a Vaskian drum. He rolled onto his back, hands fisted in the sheets, and absolutely refused to touch himself.


	8. Theomedes

King Theomedes grew sick near midsummer. Slowly, over the course of days and weeks it took for him to become gray and thin, a realization grew in the back of Laurent’s mind. He kept a journal of Theomedes’ illness: the first day he grew ill, the times his suffering eased and those it increased. Which days he took medicine and which he did not. He kept the journal hidden under his bed. Soon it became clear: Theomedes became worse on days the royal physician visited, not better.

Who would poison the king? Who had the most to gain from the death of Theomedes?

It was, undeniably, the crown prince.

Laurent lay awake in bed that night, thinking that Damen was not nearly so honorable as he seemed — thinking that Theomedes hated Vere and would never be fair with them — thinking of how Theomedes had slain Aleron, Laurent’s own father — thinking that Damen would make a good king, like Auguste.

Laurent kept his silence. He kept his ear to the ground, and he waited.

* * *

 

In winter, he awoke to the sound of bells mournfully tolling. Theomedes was dead.

Laurent closed his eyes. For a while, he thought of leaving his room and seeking out Damen, sitting on Damen’s bed and wrapping his arms around Damen’s shoulders. Perhaps talking, or simply lying there together. He thought of how his own father had died… the stray arrow that had slain King Aleron. He thought of how that night he and Auguste had sat together in the King’s tent, grieving arm in arm.

Laurent rose. He had to go to Damen. It was what brothers did.

A noise caught his attention, and he turned instead to the window. He had left it open a crack to cool the room. Fingers slipped in and pulled it open, and Erasmus scrambled through, landing on the bed. He lay there, breathing hard, clothing in disarray. He and Laurent stared at one another.

“This is — this is your room,” Erasmus said.

“It is,” Laurent said.

“Please, don’t throw me out,” Erasmus said, sounding frantic. “They're killing all the prince's household. I, I slipped out the window while they fought His Highness.”

Laurent seized Erasmus’s shoulder. “His Highness. Which Highness?”

“D-Damianos. I was in his b-bed.”

A cold, terrible rage seized Laurent. Coolly, he helped Erasmus into a seat. “You were in his bed.”

“Y-you must think I'm a coward.”

“I'm told,” Laurent said, “that Akielon slaves are selected for their desire to submit. Slavery is the act of a man who would rather do as he's told than face the exhausting task of making his own decisions. You have cemented that in my mind. You excel at lying still, being quiet, and being naked. Essentially, you excel at inaction. So no, I don't think you're a coward. I think you didn’t think at all, the way a mindless rodent acts when a fox appears. You worthless, stupid mouse.”

Erasmus’s face went red and pale at once, giving him a blotchy look. He buried his face in his hands and began to sob.

Laurent stared at him, taken aback. There was something deeply satisfying about pricking a man into fury; this wasn't satisfying in the least. Laurent patted him awkwardly. “Did you see what happened?”

“No,” Erasmus sniffled. “There were muffled noises – snarling, cursing – they had him down, but I don't think they killed him.”

There was still time.

Laurent slipped through the palace, every nerve in his body tightly strung. He walked purposefully, as if sent. No guard halted him.

He needed to rescue Damen. He rationalized this desire by telling himself that saving Damen benefited him, that Kastor would likely be a worse master. It was easier than admitting the truth.

He excelled at being cold and thinking. Now he could do neither. His mind was alight with thoughts of Damen – thoughts of Damianos lying dead on his own bedroom floor – of Damen saying _he's pretty, like a painting_ , of Damen looking at him that first night, of Damen not quite touching him, not quite flirting with him, not quite staring too long. Forcibly, Laurent pushed those thoughts away and focused on the task at hand.

He caught sight of movement across the courtyard. Four men dragged a fifth between them. The man struggled, a bag over his head, his hands and feet lashed together. His skin was dark, his body muscled. They had stripped him and put golden cuffs on his wrists. Laurent was impressed by the audacity of it. With his face hidden, Damen appeared to be nothing more than an unruly slave.

They dragged him through a door into the slave quarters and then emerged not long after, empty handed. Laurent slipped in.

He found Damen in a dark and isolated cell. The door was unlocked. Laurent pushed it open and went in – and then froze.

A guard sat inside. For a moment, they simply stared at one another. Oh. That was why the door had been unlocked.

Damen had been blindfolded and strung up against the far wall. His muscled body strained heavily against the chains. His wrists were already blistered, the skin broken. He snarled when Laurent’s footsteps first echoed in the room. They had fitted him with a gag.

Laurent said the first thing that came to mind. He said: “Kastor wishes to know how his brother fares.”

Damen stopped struggling.

The pieces fit together perfectly. The crown prince kidnapped on the same day as King Theomedes’ death… of course it was Kastor. Possibly Kastor was the one who poisoned Theomedes in the first place, not Damen after all. Laurent waited to see if his assumption was correct.

The guard relaxed, chuckling. “Alive, just as Prince Kastor asked,” he said. “No one told me you were involved in this. You Veretians are slippery.”

Laurent shrugged. Suddenly, he stilled, as if he had heard a noise. He turned to look out the door, then gasped loudly. The guard rushed to his feet to see what it was. Laurent stepped smoothly behind him, drew the guard's dagger from his belt, and slit his throat. The man crumpled noiselessly. Quietly, Laurent dragged him inside and shut the door. He wondered how long he had until another showed up.

Damen lay against the wall, breathing hard with his exertions. His skin was slick with sweat and blood. Laurent sliced away the gag. “Damen,” he murmured.

Damen spat at him. “Laurent. You lying, treacherous snake. If I get my hands on you — ” His body heaved against the chains. His struggling did little more than emphasize his helplessness.

Laurent could have protested. Could have taken the blindfold from Damen’s eyes, shown him the dead guard. Explained that he was here to rescue Damen, and wasn’t working for Kastor at all. Instead, without really meaning to, he leaned forward, tangled his fingers into Damen’s thick hair, and kissed him.

Damen’s body was alive in Laurent’s arms. His mouth was still in surprise, but he allowed the kiss — sucked in his breath when Laurent, at last, pulled away. “Laurent,” Damen said hoarsely, “I swear, I’m going to kill you.” Laurent flattened his palm on Damen’s bare chest and felt Damen’s pounding heartbeat. Damen’s lips were parted, and he twisted helplessly in his chains as Laurent pulled off the blindfold.

Damen went very still, looking from the guard on the floor to Laurent, still holding the bloody weapon. “It’s not what you think, you fool-minded barbarian,” Laurent said. “If you had been paying attention at all, you would have noticed that I’m one of the few people with good reason to keep you alive. You think Kastor will be kind to me when he’s king?”

“Kastor,” Damen said.

“Are you surprised? He’s the only one who benefits from your death.”

“You knew,” Damen said. “You said his name to the guard. How?”

“It was an educated guess.” He began to pat down the dead guard. “Where are the keys?”

“Adrastus took them.” Laurent started to leave. “Laurent, no. How can a slave get keys from one of his masters?” Then: “You can’t just leave me here.”

Laurent pressed him against the wall again. Their mouths were close, and Laurent felt a rush of satisfaction as Damen’s eyes flickered down, then up. Laurent reached up to squeeze Damen’s throat and ran his thumb along the metal of the collar. “At the moment,” Laurent said, “I can do whatever I please with you.”

Damen swallowed visibly.

Laurent stepped back. “I’ll find a way to free you, I swear. I got in here, didn’t I?”

Damen was watching him. They were sizing each other up. They had always been sizing each other up. Finally, Damen let out a half-groan, half-sigh. “Go.”

Laurent glanced up and down Damen’s body. “As if I need your permission.” Before Damen could reply, Laurent turned and slipped out of the room. He could feel Damen’s eyes on him as he went.

* * *

 

In the end, it was as simple as alerting Damen’s personal guard. He supposed they wouldn’t believe him (they didn’t) but once they confirmed Damen’s room was empty and showed signs of a struggle, half of them vanished, spreading throughout the castle. They forced Laurent to kneel in the courtyard, two men watching him. Adrastus was found and brought to sit on a bench. This was ludicrous, Adrastus protested. What reason would he have to kidnap the crown prince? The guards assured him they were just being sure, just doing what they thought best.

Laurent’s knees ached. Adrastus complained of the cold and received a cloak. Laurent did not.

When the bell tolled midnight, Damen appeared. His face was slack with exhaustion. They had removed the cuffs, but given him no shirt.

His eyes fixed on Laurent.

The guards rose to their feet, murmurs of _Your Majesty_ spreading through the courtyard. Damen did not seem to hear them; he moved with the same purposeful stride he always did. The guards backed away from Laurent, and slowly, Laurent rose to his feet. “Does Your Majesty have need of me?” Laurent asked, as if nothing had happened.

“Your Majesty is tired and dirty,” Damen said. “Prepare a bath.” To the guards, he said, “Get Kastor. Arrest my brother for high treason.”


	9. Bath

The bath was one large pool that drew water from a nearby hotspring. Normally, it had at least one other person in it, but not now. Servants — heavy-eyed and listless, pulled from bed — lit torches that ringed the area, normally unused, then left. With unerring fingers, Laurent helped Damen undress. The larger man stumbled a bit, wincing as his shirt came off. He leaned heavily on Laurent as Laurent helped him into the water. Damen groaned as he went in, resting on a small shelf built into the side of the bath. He lay back his head. Steam coiled against his skin. Eyes closed, Damen said, “You can hardly attend me without getting into the water.”

Laurent made no move to remove his clothes or get into the water. His bare feet made soft noise as he retrieved a sponge, some soap, and some oil from nearby. He also found some bandages and salve, likely stowed there small cuts and bruises. He took it as an afterthought.

“I can get another slave,” Damen said. He sounded exhausted. “Either way, let me know. I’d like to be clean soon.”

Laurent pulled off his meager clothing, then slipped into the water. Damen didn’t open his eyes at all, but Laurent caught a small smile at the sound of his entrance to the pool. Laurent picked up the sponge and the spice-scented soap, then began.

The dirt came off easily. The blood took more time. Damen had not been cut, but bruising mottled the skin over his ribs. His olive skin hid it well, but when Laurent pressed lightly, Damen winced, betraying himself. His wrists Laurent carefully dabbed at, sponging away the blood from the torn skin. Damen hissed. “I can call a healer,” Laurent said.

Damen shook his head. “There’s nothing more to do than clean the wounds.”

Damen ducked his head under, and Laurent began massage soap into Damen’s dark curls. Damen held perfectly still, head bowed for Laurent to easily reach. He rolled his shoulders as Laurent worked. The torchlight flickered off his skin, highlighting streams of water. “You know,” Damen said, “I never imagined you being this obedient. When I first got you, I knew you were going to be difficult.”

“I’m not being obedient,” Laurent said. “I don’t feel compelled to wash you. Well — other than compelled by your smell, I mean.”

“It’s good to know,” Damen said. “That you don’t feel compelled, I mean.”

Laurent bit the inside of his cheek. There was a long silence where it felt like he should speak. Then, forcing the words out, he said, “I’m not going to thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not raping me,” Laurent said. “Never threatening me. Never touching me. You seem to think it’s some grand thing you’re doing, never compelling me to do anything. All you have done is fulfilled the basic requirements of being a decent human being. If I thanked every man who didn’t rape me, there would be quite a list. You have done nothing extraordinary.”

“Alright,” Damen said, sounding bemused.

“Furthermore,” Laurent said, “if this is some convoluted way of gaining my consent, you’re going to be disappointed. I’m not going to express my gratitude by sucking your cock or rolling on my back for you.”

“Erasmus sucks my cock,” Damen said.

Laurent gritted his teeth.

“Laurent. I didn’t ask you to attend me because I want to fuck you in the bathhouse. I asked you to attend me because I needed a slave and you were there.” Laurent snorted. “Fine,” Damen said. “So I probably could’ve found someone else. So what? You’re nice to look at and you’ve grown on me. I also thought you’d be the last person to mistake this for an attempt at seduction. My father is dead. I was nearly killed, or… whatever that bastard was going to do with me. On top of that, that fight left me feeling like I’ve been kicked by a horse. Sex is the last thing on my mind.”

There was a long silence.

“You kissed me,” Damen said. Laurent dunked the sponge in the water and squeezed. Blood eased out. Filled with water, he squeezed it over Damen’s head, and Damen wiped his wet hair aside. “Did I imagine it?” Damen said.

“You didn’t imagine that.”

Damen seemed to be searching Laurent’s expression for something. “Alright,” he said slowly. The kiss felt a million miles away from them, as if it had happened in another reality. Damen was different here — different than when he had been blindfolded, in chains, stripped of his princely attire. This Damen seemed like another person entirely; clean-faced, naked but undoubtedly a king, commanding him about. It was the difference between facing a caged wolf and a free one.

“I asked you here for another reason as well,” Damen said. “I want to talk to you.”

“Then talk,” Laurent said evenly.

“It’s — good to have your presence. First and foremost, I want you to know that.” A pause. “There’s been news from Vere. I want to apologize. When your uncle offered you as a hostage, I assumed… I thought your brother knew. He didn’t, did he? He was weeks away, commanding an army. It’s your uncle who negotiated the surrender, supposedly with your brother’s approval.”

“My uncle is Regent,” Laurent said neutrally. “He was authorized to sign the peace treaty.”

Damen ran a hand through his hair. “He was, and I’m grateful for it.” He shook his head. “That’s not the point. Your brother and uncle are quarreling. I’ve heard of strife at the capital. Your brother rode to the capital to claim his throne, but once he got there, your uncle refused to let him in the gates.” Laurent’s breath caught in his throat, and he schooled his features to coldness. “Laurent, please don’t look like that. You don’t have to pretend not to care. I… let me talk to you about this like a man talks to man. I understand what it’s like to be a prince caught between ambitious family members. I nearly died today.”

Laurent’s hands curled into fists. “What did Auguste do?”

“He lay siege to the capital,” Damen said. “I don’t know what’s happened since then. Whichever of them dies, you will lose a family member.”

Laurent laughed bitterly. “No, if my uncle wins, I lose a family member. If Auguste succeeds, I lose an enemy.”

“My council is pushing me to side with your uncle,” Damen said. “They would have pushed my father, but it was already clear that he was…” His voice grew hoarse, and he cut himself off. “They knew it would be my decision to make. Your uncle is the one who signed the treaty, and the one who suggested it in the first place.”

Laurent was silent. He toweled the dampness from Damen’s wrists, then dabbed the blisters and broken skin with salve. He wound bandages in place and secured them. “Laurent,” Damen murmured. “Speak to me.”

Laurent shook his head. “Don’t side with my uncle. Don’t. You’ll regret it.”

Damen nodded slowly. “I won’t.”

“Thank you,” Laurent said.

Damen rose from the water. It ran off his skin in tiny rivers, pooling at his feet. Laurent went after him, drying him. “Your brother sent me a letter a few weeks ago,” Damen said. “Very official looking. Very professional language, very polite. He wanted to know how you were faring. He didn’t say so, but he clearly wanted to know whether or not I was making use of you. Doubtless he wants to snap my neck.”

“Auguste seems to think I need protecting.”

“I’d snap someone’s neck if they touched you, too,” Damen said. “It seems more merciful than letting you handle them yourself.”

“I should use you as a weapon,” Laurent said, amused. “Shall I begin seducing my enemies?”

“You would leave half of the palace dead. The only people who don’t want to kill or fuck you are people who haven’t met you yet.”

“You’ve met me,” Laurent said.

Damen gave him a look. He started to speak, then stopped. It felt as if they were having a conversation without speaking, as if voicing what they were both thinking — what they both knew — would make it disappear — and Laurent knew that what he was doing was dangerous, very dangerous.

_You kissed me_ , Damen had said.

Damen lay his hand on Laurent’s hip. The touch was brief; Laurent had only a moment to feel the heat of it, the weight, before he instinctively jerked away. His pulse was a thin, rapid flutter. Damen bent, his hand reaching out to tilt Laurent’s chin. Carefully — oh so carefully — he leaned forward.

This was not a game. This was not a sparring match. This was an offer, a request. Laurent held still; he had plenty to time to move, and he held still. The kiss itself was chaste. Laurent felt his heart in his mouth, his body full of a flickering heat. When Damen leaned away, Laurent followed, eyes opening to slits. The heat of the air was overpowering, now. Laurent could barely breathe.

It was new, this desire coiling in him. Previously, it’d made him feel sick. Powerful. Angry. Vulnerable, like being drugged. He hated the urges of his body, making him want things beyond his control. This, though… it felt… okay. It felt clean. Laurent schooled his features to indifference, then drew away. Putting space between them made him feel more comfortable.

Damen was studying him. Whatever he saw in Laurent’s face, it made him back away. “I should go,” he said.

“You should,” Laurent said.

Damen went.


	10. Consort

Damen’s coronation took place in a week. It was by no means extravagant — rather, solemn, as most were. There were black smudges beneath Damen’s eyes, and there were lines etched into his face. Laurent felt a pang looking at him.

As the ceremony ended, Laurent slipped away onto a lonely balcony. He breathed deep in the night air. He thought of everything, and he did not think of Damen.

If he left now and rode hard, he could get to the border within a couple weeks. His fine jewelry would get him a horse and rations, at least. Getting through Vere would take time, but Auguste needed him. The guards here… they didn’t bother watching him anymore, and Damen trusted him.

Damen was not mourning. He had mourned, already, for weeks as his father faded away. Laurent thought of the journal stashed under his mattress. He thought of marking the dates, putting it together over days and days while Theomedes died. Kastor. It had been Kastor, not Damianos. The world righted itself in his head.

Perhaps he could tell Damen about the poisoning. Should, at least… except, no, that was stupid. It wouldn’t change anything. Perhaps it would make Damen angry -- perhaps he'd be furious that Laurent had not come forward. Perhaps he would hate Laurent. Perhaps it would be better like that. Damen watched him constantly; he seemed to think his observation subtle or even entirely invisible, but Laurent felt his gaze like feeling heat from a fire. He wished Damen had never looked at him at all.

A voice behind him said, “I require service, slave.”

He turned. Damen, clad in stiff royal regalia, came to him, crossing his arms and leaning backwards against the rail. Laurent let out a breath of laughter. “Find another slave, then.”

“I need someone to whine to. They’re talking of how I’m going to get children. There are several women — several noblewomen — who have become drunk and have begun flirting with me. They think they’re being clever. Subtle. Coy.”

“Your Akielon noblewomen are subtle the same way an elephant is subtle to a mouse."

Damen inclined his head. “After dealing with you for months, the smallest of glances feel too direct.” He drummed his fingers, giving Laurent a long, considering look.

Laurent kept his face cool and aloof, shifting away. He felt his pulse flicker, then pick up speed. Why did he feel this tension?  _Lovely_ , his uncle used to call him. _Lovely boy._ Damen liked lovely boys, apparently.

“I need a consort,” Damen said.

Laurent turned to stare at him incredulously.

Damen raised his palms. “Hear me out. I’ve been thinking of ways to… cement things… with Vere. Ways to make the peace treaty work long-term. What the public knows and sees is important. If you — if I were to take the second prince of Vere into my bedroom so publicly… if I were to favor you so publicly… it would seem as though you had my ear.”

He thought of Damen chained to a wall, naked. He thought of Damen in the baths, alone with him after an assassination attempt, no guards in sight. He thought of telling Damen not to side with the Regent. “Don’t I?” he said, giving Damen a sidelong look.

Their conversation had dropped to a murmur. In the hall, there were nobles, people listening. “People talk,” Damen said quietly. “Laurent. You’re known for being clever, and for being — attractive. It’s a good idea if they get the impression the royal families are growing close. No one in Akielos sees you as a threat, but your supporters in Vere will rejoice.”

“My supporters in Vere,” Laurent repeated. “Doubtless my uncle has stirred them into a frenzy over my enslavement. They’ll only be angrier, thinking you’ve defiled me. Haven’t I rejected you enough times already?”

“No.”

A simple, blunt, straightforward answer. Laurent let out a breath of laughter. “Shall we begin our days with it, then? You’ll come visit me in my nice new chambers and ask me to suck your cock, I’ll slap you, and then we’ll go about our day.”

“Laurent — ”

“You shouldn’t call me that,” Laurent said. “You should call me pet. Slave. Why not order me to be your consort?”

From anyone else, the words might have been a flirtation. From Laurent, they were jagged pieces of ice. He aimed them carefully. Damen grimaced. “I can’t force you to pretend — ”

“You could force me to do more than pretend,” Laurent said.

They stared at each other steadily. Laurent paid careful attention to Damen’s face and found himself receiving the same attention. Damen’s mouth was tight. “I don’t want to.”

“You do,” Laurent said.

“I don’t,” Damen said helplessly. “Is it so impossible for you to believe?”

“I am your slave,” Laurent said. “Always, I am your slave — ”

“It isn’t like that. When I was naked and chained and helpless, when I had no power over you, you willingly — ”

“It isn’t like that? Damen, I am always naked and helpless to you. You could order me flogged to death at this very moment and no one would question it — you could order me to undress and bend over for you here and now — so why _don’t_ you?” He felt himself losing control, bit by bit. Hear the steely coldness fading from his voice. “I keep waiting for you to push,” Laurent said. “And yet you sit there, always staring at me, always — always backing away just before — ”

This was too far. Laurent stopped, then took a breath. He was supposed to be putting up walls, not breaking them down. Was he a child, to want to tell Damen everything, to be honest? He closed his eyes, briefly, then leaned against the railing, features schooled to coldness. “You’re a child,” he said. There. That was what he had meant to say.

“Meaningless insults aren’t going to hurt me, Laurent.”

“Meaningless?” Laurent said. “And here I thought we were having an earnest discussion. You want to know how I feel? No, you want validation. Poor, sweet Damen. He wants to fuck his slave but he’s too proper to demand it. No, he’s not like one of those other slave-owners, the bad ones who rape their pets — and you think because of that, I should roll on my back for you on my own. Like a prize for being a decent person.”

“I — ”

“Does it sting? That’s how I can tell I’m right. People flinch, you know, when a nerve is struck. Sometimes it’s so quick it can barely be seen, but other times… other times it lingers. Nothing burns like truthful criticism. Yes, like that,” he said, studying Damen’s face carefully. “That look you have right now.”

Damen said nothing. Did not even defend himself. Instead, he gave Laurent a look.

Laurent’s mouth thinned. There was nothing to say to that.

Damen said, quietly now, “You could wear that collar the rest of your life and I would never have the power to take what I want from you, because what I want is your consent. If you won’t give it, then fine: let me be deprived.”

Laurent pinched the bridge of his nose. “You are determined to be aggravating.” Then: “I’m not going to pretend to be your consort. Not just to get what I want.”

The tinkling voices of the nobles had begun to fade. They were tired of waiting for Damen to be done so they could approach him inside; and yet, no one dared come out. Instead, they were filtering away. “What do you want?” Damen asked. 

“I want,” Laurent said, looking at Damen, the light falling on his face, the curl around his ear, his frank and hard eyes, “I want — I want to go on a ride. Alone. I need to think.”

Damen grimaced. “Your uncle sent you here to drive me mad, didn’t he?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him.”

He wasn’t getting a horse. If Laurent got a horse, with his brother in need — with his uncle on the verge of victory — Damen wasn’t that stupid. They stared at each other.

“I’ll send a servant to prepare a horse,” Damen said. 

Laurent could see it in Damen’s eyes: the understanding of what had just passed between them. Laurent was not going on a quick ride in the forest. Laurent would be riding hard towards the border, and he wouldn’t be back. They could embrace, perhaps, or kiss. It wouldn’t mean anything now.

Laurent pushed himself away from the railing, then left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few more chapters left. I swear to god there's sex in here somewhere. Hang on! 
> 
> Again, thanks to everyone who has commented or hit the kudos button! Your support means a lot. It keeps me warm when life feels not so great.


	11. Ride

Laurent sat upright on the saddle, the horse in an easy canter. Damen had given him the best. He closed his eyes and thought of Damen then — dark eyes, thick skin, callused hands, sensible face. His throat tightened, and he grimaced.

Like a man tasting poison, he thought of Damen again — small amounts, at first, seeking to build an immunity. Testing the waters, seeing what cooled the fire-hot feelings in his gut, what made them roil. The memory of their first meeting gave him only mild heat. The memory of Damen in chains, against the wall, saying _You can’t just leave me here_ —

He could. Damen had known that.

He could have done more than kiss Damen. No one had known that Damen was even missing, and Damen had been helpless, desirous, wanting. It would have been easy. A leaned-in kiss, white hands on olive skin, and Damen would have moaned — would have writhed, body reacting, pulling away from the wall. Not that Damen would have been able to get away, or nearer. His captors had used strong chains, iron that had clanked when Damen had wrenched his arms – when Damen had shuddered, saying _Laurent_.

Saying: _Laurent._ Saying: _I swear._ And saying: _If I get my hands on you_ –

The day began to cool and fade. He drew the horse up short.

Auguste needed help. His brother was far too straightforward to win a siege against their dear Uncle Regent. Auguste needed —

Auguste needed men. Allies. And if Damen could be convinced… if Damen could be coerced… Auguste could win, and then at long last Auguste and Damen would be allies and kings. This was where Laurent could do the most.

He turned the horse around and began back towards the palace at Ios.

 

Long past nightfall, he ran through the palace doors, up the steps, and through the halls. A curvy, dark-haired woman stood at Damen’s door. She looked nothing at all like Erasmus, nor like Laurent. The opposite, in fact. Laurent smoothed the line of his shirt and ran a hand to fix his hair. “And you are?” he asked.

She dipped her head. “His Majesty requested me. I’m sorry, I’ve never attended him before. He usually prefers — ”

“His Majesty does not actually require your services,” Laurent said. She blinked at him, a flush darkening her face. “Well? What are you waiting for? Shoo.” Laurent past her and opened Damen’s double doors, sweeping in. And stopped.

Damen was not there. From behind him, he heard a wavering voice: “His Majesty said I was to wait for him here. He, um, is selecting a bottle of wine.”

“A bottle of wine,” Laurent said, focusing on the spilled bottle that stood on the night-stand. A servant was cleaning it up. He had not thought that Damen was one to indulge himself in such a manner. But then again, there were a lot of things he hadn't expected about Damen.

“The bottle I brought was not up to his standards. He said… he said he needed to go select one himself.” She sounded shaky, so doubtless Damen had been impolite about it. Well. That wasn’t like Damen at all.

“Go,” Laurent said. “I’ll handle this.”

“You? You’re — you’re that slave.”

“I’m Prince Laurent,” he said flatly. “Whether I’m a slave or not.” She left, as did the servant cleaning up the mess. Laurent closed his eyes, back still to the door. They did not shut it as they went. Instead, new footsteps approached.

Then stopped.

Laurent did not turn. Held there, instead, waiting as slowly clicking heels came closer. Hands settled on his biceps, and he shuddered, leaning back into the other man’s body. A voice in his ear said, “Laurent,” hoarsely. Laurent turned, catching hold of Damen’s shirt, their closeness unbearable. “Laurent,” Damen whispered again, breath wet with alcohol, and when he leaned down, kissing hungrily, Laurent met him halfway. Pushed him back towards the bed, fumbling with clothes. The bottle Damen had been holding dropped, bouncing on the carpet. The cork came undone.

Damen’s hands fisted in Laurent’s riding clothes, forcing him to stay close when Laurent wished to draw away. He shut his eyes tight; his body felt sensitive, over-warm, and he shuddered as Damen pinned him to the wall, sliding a leg against his groin. Laurent broke the kiss and said, harshly, “Let me breathe, will you?”

Damen laughed helplessly. “You have no idea how good it feels to hear your voice.”

Damen didn’t let him breathe. Instead, he hunched over to press his mouth against Laurent’s neck, lips moving, teeth pressing stinging points into Laurent’s skin. Laurent shuddered, hips arching. Then stopped. Body locked. “Hell,” Damen said thickly. “This is — how drunk am I?”

“Drunk,” Laurent said.

“Do you want me to — ”

“Stop? I’ll let you know.”

Damen laughed again. “Alright.” He kissed Laurent’s neck again, then hugged him. “Alright.” He swept down, pulling Laurent’s legs out from under him and catching him during the style. Bridal-style, he carried Laurent to the bed and tossed him there. Then, instead of joining, paused at the edge, tilting his head down to consider Laurent through low-lashed eyes.

“The idea was not for you to do things so quickly I can’t object,” Laurent said.

“Take off your clothes,” Damen said.

“Take off your clothes. I like mine.”

With a long look that said in no uncertain terms that Damen was only humoring him, Damen stretched his arms above his head, pulling off the loose white shirt he’d worn to bed. Unbuttoned his expensive-looking pants, kicking them aside. Rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck. Laurent kept his gaze cool, examining it all — barely glancing down, focusing with only mild interest on Damen’s shoulders and hands. Damen crawled onto the bed, pressing him flat against the coverlet.

Laurent’s heart felt as though it would burst. Adrenline flickered through him — and desire, though only faint, shook him to his core. Like a man tasting alcohol for the first time, he was drunk with it. Truth unfurled in his mind: he wanted Damen. Yes, that felt right. He had known it a while.

He closed his eyes, briefly, and restrained it. He sighed, batted away Damen’s hands, and reached for Damen’s cock.

Damen’s hand closed on his wrist.

Laurent paused.

Damen pulled aside Laurent’s shirt, unlaced his pants, slid cloth across skin, slid rough hands on skin. Laurent held still, heart pounding, as Damen uncovered him.

Damen swallowed him, and Laurent arched up, mouth opening, shuddering. His hands clasped the wrought-iron headboard. It took an act of sheer willpower to hold himself there, unmoving, while Damen’s mouth eased up and down. Wet heat made him moan, a noise he cut off before it grew. Damen’s eyes flickered up. Darkened. Pupils blown wide, face flushed. Sucked hard, and down.

Damen was relentless, giving no more than Laurent would allow, backing off the moment Laurent began to squirm too much. “I’m not sure I can,” Laurent said in a faintly strained voice, “I’m not sure I — can let go.”

Damen swallowed around him and continued the same easy pace he had been going before. He was straightforward, as he always was. Single-minded and patient. It took time. Laurent didn’t think he could surrender to anyone, but the simple rhythm, the want twisting in his gut, the dark head of hair in his laps, dark eyes — Damen’s eyes —

It felt like an age before, at last, he curled upwards, making a wordless noise. A thousand times, his orgasm felt close, only to ease away at the last moment. Then, at last, it hit him. The tension released, he slumped in the sheets, letting his head fall over the edge. Damen swallowed around him one last time, then moved upwards, kissing a sloppy trail from Laurent’s cock to his chest, his neck, his mouth. They fit together. Laurent’s breathing slowed.

He curled his hand between them, squeezing Damen’s cock, and Damen groaned low and hungry in his ear. The noise lit a spark in Laurent, though his body hadn’t the energy to make it anything more. Damen pressed his face into Laurent shoulder and breathed in.

Laurent began to move his hand.

An impersonal, efficient touch. He fought to bring Damen off quickly, to end this. Damen wrapped his arms around Laurent body, nuzzling Laurent’s neck, and Laurent squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing back the emotion rising in his throat. “Laurent,” Damen whispered, _“Laurent_ ,” as if that word were the world to him. Laurent’s heart ached.

When it did end, he felt as though he had missed something. As though moving too quickly had lost something. Damen’s entire body was relaxed, and he lounged on the pillows like a lion after a kill: satisfied. Laurent kissed Damen’s ear. Then, because he didn’t know what else to say: “You should ally with Auguste.”

Damen chuckled. “You didn’t sleep with me to get troops for your brother.”

Laurent considered this. It was, undeniably, the truth. He didn’t tell Damen, that, thought, electing instead to stand and stretch. “Stay,” Damen said.

Laurent let out a breath of laughter.

“Be my consort,” Damen said. “Whisper ideas in my ear. Coerce me into helping your brother — anything.”

“You want to be abused? I thought so.”

“I want you.” Damen sighed. “I suppose it’s the same thing. It fits, Laurent. You relationship with your brother… it’s no secret the two of you are devoted to each other. Auguste will not do a thing to harm Akielos, not with you here. Meanwhile, you gain my ear, and the public benefits from seeing the royal families become close. I had thought you would like this plan.”

“I’m not going to pretend to be your consort.”

“You could do more than pretend,” Damen said.

Laurent ran a hand through his hair. He put his cloths back on, lacing back up into his stiff exterior, feeling Damen’s eyes on him the entire time. “Very well,” he said.

He meant to leave. And yet he allowed Damen to touch him again -- to draw him down into the sheets -- allowed himself to sleep naked by the side of the King of Akielos. Each touch built tension in him, then release. Relaxation. In the middling hours of the morning, he awoke tangled in Damen's arms, and he allowed himself a fantasy: he thought of himself staying this way forever, safe in Akielos, far from the politics of Vere. Auguste would take the throne, and there would be no more strife. Laurent himself would sink his claws into the Akielon court. He would keep Auguste safe, and he would keep Damen tame. 

He watched Damen wake in the morning, his soft expression melting into awareness. Damen rewarded him with a soft smile, and Laurent sighed, kissing him. He thought perhaps he could live like this. 

In the coming week, he would think of that moment, and he would hate Damianos. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Four more chapters left, guys.


	12. Journal

Days passed in what felt like moments. Damen, in council meetings, setting things in place — arguing for Auguste —

A messenger would take word to troops near the border, who would cross to Vere and bulk up Auguste’s forces. A hundred, only, the council demanded. Nikandros of Delpha would serve as an ambassador. It was only a day away from falling neatly into place.

It took only a single mistake for it to fall apart instead.

Three nights after his first encounter with Damen, after the servants had finally gotten around to moving his effects into his new chambers, two guards appeared at his door and dragged him to Damen’s room. They threw him onto the floor, and Laurent’s hands fisted in the carpet. Damen held up the journal and said, “What is this?” And Laurent’s veins turned to ice.

Laurent paused a moment, then said, “It’s not what it looks like.”

“A cleaning slave found it,” Damen said, “under your mattress.” Each word was precise. Filled with hot fury. To the guards, he said, “Get out. Don’t come in, no matter what you hear.” The guards left.

“Damen — ”

Daman dragged him upright and shoved him against the wall. They were so close that Laurent could feel Damen’s breath on his mouth, could feel the places Damen had him pinned, the coiled muscle of Damen’s body. “If you call me that again, I swear, I will kill you.”

“Your Majesty,” Laurent said. “If you kill me, Vere will retaliate.”

The silence lasted so long Laurent closed his eyes and began to make peace with his death. The grip on his collar eased. Damen went to the table, carefully poured a glass of wine, and downed it. He set the goblet down hard and wiped his mouth. “You poisoned my father,” he said raggedly. “I doubt your country will object to your execution.”

Laurent swallowed hard. His throat ached. “I — what? You think that I — ”

Damen swept his arm across the table. Glass shattered; the wine spilled. Pears rolled and grapes scattered. Damen’s hands fisted in the stained cloth. “I should have known,” he said. “A gift? Your uncle knew what you were when he sent you. He threw a viper into a pit of wolves just to see what would happen. And you — you have always been a Veretian, you have always been an enemy prince, you have always been a liar and a cheat.” Then: “I know what you did to Jokaste."

"Jokaste," Laurent said. 

"She told me, and I did not believe her."

Laurent said nothing. There was nothing to say. An admission would get him nowhere, and arguing would only sink him deeper in. He chose his words carefully. "You are mistaken if you think me part of some grand conspiracy. I have nothing to gain from any of this." Except for the fact that King Theomedes had been unkind to Vere. 

"Except for the fact that my father was unkind to Vere," Damen said.

Laurent inclined his head. 

"And Kastor." Damen's voice was quiet, now. "What about Kastor?"

Laurent arched his eyebrows.

"You knew exactly where I was," Damen said. 

The color drained from Laurent’s face. “Erasmus told me you had been attacked.”

“You came right to me. Were you working with Kastor? Did you play him as you’re playing me, only to turn on him at the last second? Dashing to the rescue, a slave, against all odds… gaining my favor…”

He wanted to say that he wouldn’t do such a thing. Except he would. This conspiracy sounded exactly like him. He took a breath to steady himself. “You’re being irrational. If I had poisoned your father, why would I keep a journal of dates? I was trying to find out if he was being poisoned at all.”

“Irrational?” Damen said. “If you truly were just a concerned innocent, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because,” Laurent said. “I thought you were the one poisoning him.”

In the coming silence, Damen stared at him with shock and horror so sincere and profound that Laurent at once realized Damen was no more capable of poisoning his father than he were of sprouting wings. Laurent said, “I’m sorry. I should have — ”

“You,” Damen said, “are a diseased, spineless, Veretian snake.” He threw open the door. “Take him,” he said to the guards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time. Sorry, guys.


	13. Imprisonment

They dragged him to a hole in the floor, opened the hatch, and threw him in. That night — or when he guessed was night, at least — he curled on his side on the unforgiving stone, no mattress, not even a pile of moldy hay. His body ached from sleeping on stone, and still he slept.

Damianos was a fool. That was the worst insult Laurent could think of: sheer irrationality, stupidity. It has been naive to feel affection for him, as foolish as to love an animal. Laurent hated himself, and when he could, he hated Damen.

One hundred twenty-three grey bricks composed the left and right walls, and one-forty composed the front and back. One hundred and eight composed the floor. Laurent supposed he could count the ceiling, but he saved it. Returned, instead, to his fantasies of being crown prince of Vere.

He thought of Auguste dead at Damianos's hands. It would soon be the truth, after all. Without Damianos's help, Auguste's chances were slim. Auguste was a fine man, but their uncle was a strategist. 

He imagined Auguste dead. Dead for years, killed at Marlas by Damianos. Mentally, he revenged himself upon Damianos, ordering a flogging, throwing him in the fighting ring to be raped, forcing him to bend, to break. Laurent lost himself in the fantasy of it. It felt real. 

But in time, his thoughts turned instead to his uncle. Hate alone could not sustain him in the dark, so instead, he began to imagine what a world without Auguste would be like. His uncle would try to kill him at some point, of course, he'd had to protect himself from that, but how? Building a presence in court would help. After that, he had to work out why Damen was there. Which meant developing an intricate plot involving a kidnapping. 

As hours melted by, he closed his eyes and imagined more. The truth was that even in his imaginary world, he could not win against his uncle. He kept boxing himself into corners. Somehow his imaginary version of Damen was always there to help. An assassination attempt gone wrong. An incompetent captain, needing to be replaced. An enemy soldier about to run him through, killed by a thrown sword. Why was Damen always just… there?

They fit together like a hilt and blade.

Laurent felt his throat close up. He pressed his face to the stone and began to plot.

He could convince Damen of his innocence once Damen came to see him. That was not the problem. The problem was how to do it quickly, and how to gain help for Auguste. Damen would not listen to him if he pushed too hard too quickly, and yet Laurent would be working with little time -- especially if Damen did not come for another few days. 

The day he gave up and began to count the ceiling, the hatch opened, a ladder extended. Laurent pressed himself into a corner and refused to move until a burly, foul-smelling man with a belt full of keys climbed down, picked him up, and carried him out. “How many days has it been?” he asked, and the man gave him a scornful glance and said nothing.

Three men took him back to his old quarters. The lock clicked shut behind them. Laurent curled on the mattress, and he slept.

When a servant came the next morning with a pitcher of water and food, Laurent took one of his shirts and wet it with water from the pitcher, then wiped down his dirty skin. Ran his fingers through his hair, combing it back. Took clean clothing from his drawers — austere blue — and covered himself. To the servant who gave him dinner a few hours later, he said, “I want to see His Majesty.”

The servant ignored him and left.

Days past. Weeks. The servants gave him everything he asked for — books, paper, food — but if they ever gave his message to Damen, it did not show. He wrote essays on Damen’s stupidity. He ripped them up, shoved them under the door, burnt some, kept others for reference.

He thought of every single way that things in Vere could have gone — with and without Damen’s interference — and every tiny thing he could do, if he were only out. He wrote them down and categorized them from the most likely to least. At the top of the pile was a campaign in which his Uncle won; on the bottom, the most unlikely: a scenario where Damen helped Auguste immediately and without reservation. 

He asked the servants for news of his brother, and they shot him pitying looks. One opened her mouth only briefly before seeming to think better of it; she said, “You shouldn’t worry. His Majesty is fair.”

That was the last time she served him.

He could convince Damen, if only Damen would see him. He faked illness. He bribed. He coerced.

Damen didn’t come. Damen didn’t come, not for two months.


	14. Negotiation

On the one-year anniversary of the day he’d come to Akielos, the door opened. The cuff around his ankle was unlocked, and two men escorted him to the baths.

Laurent dug in his heels once he saw the steaming water. “What’s this? Does His Majesty want a conjugal visit? Oh, lovely. You know, I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“King Damianos wants you clean and presentable,” said the guard. “Strip.” And Laurent did. 

Damianos wanted to see him. Laurent coolly considered his options. There was still the possibility that Auguste was still alive. Perhaps the siege had not even ended yet; they could last months, after all. He would gather what information he could. 

Regardless of what had happened during his imprisonment, the best option now was to find his way back into Damianos's good graces. Laurent would play the part of a recalcitrant slave; he would fake regret. He would show some anger, yes, but let Damianos apologize; he would give Damianos weeks to grow close him again, and with lingering looks and brief touches, he would rekindle what Damianos felt for him. He would wear the mask of forgiveness. He would make Damen raw and weak. 

And then... well, that depended on whether or not Auguste was still alive. He knew what it was to want to kill a man, and to wait. 

A woman dried his hair and braided it, and another shaved his face. They gave him straight-laced garments that covered more skin that his previous clothes. Veretian garments very similar to those he had come in. He stumbled when he walked, unused to such activity. 

They brought him to a gazebo in the garden, and there a guard remained with him. Until footsteps approached.

Laurent saw Damen first, looking years older than he had previously, wearing the clothes of a king. His face had hardened; something twisted, tight and painful, in Laurent’s gut, and he rose to his feet. 

Then he saw the man with Damen, and all rationality left him. He ran, but before he could get more than a few feet, the guard seized him and held him back as he writhed, kicking. “Auguste,” he cried. “You’re—you’re—”

Alive. And in Akielos. Auguste hurried up the steps, giving the guard a cold look, and away the guard went. Auguste hugged Laurent, and Laurent hugged back. “Laurent. It’s good to see you’re thriving in captivity.”

Damen said, “He isn’t dead and he isn’t maimed.”

Auguste turned, standing between Damen and Laurent. “Is that all you needed to know?” Damen said.

Auguste's tone was quite polite. Laurent recognized it immediately: it was the one their uncle had taught them for when they were dealing with difficult courtiers and small-minded lords. “Please excuse my enthusiasm. There were rumors that he hadn’t been seen for weeks. Rumors about an argument erupting from your rooms. Servants talk, you know, and nobles.”

“Ignore him,” Laurent said, pulling on Auguste’s arm. “Sit. Where is Uncle? Who controls Vere? And you—how are you here?”

Auguste stared at him blankly. “You don’t know?” He grimaced. “I stormed the capital. I begged Uncle to negotiate, but the two of you are so alike. So unwilling to compromise, so clever, willing to do what it takes to win. He… he took poison, Laurent.”

Laurent sat heavily. “He’s dead?”

“Nearly a month ago,” Auguste said.

Laurent’s eyes focused on Damen, narrowed to slits. Slowly, he rose to his feet, and he stood on top the steps, looking down. Damen said, “You’re a prisoner. It’s not my duty to keep you up to date on current events. I had more important matters to attend to.”

“More important matters,” Laurent said. “You locked me in a cell. You coddled me in a pretty, boring room, gave me books to read, and refused to see me. _You told the servants not to tell me_.”

“I — ”

“If you had let me speak to you — ”

“Laurent,” Auguste murmured. He laced his hands with his brother’s, then kissed the back of Laurent’s hand. “It’s good to see you,” he said. “Truly. King Damianos.” He glanced at Damen. “I am here to negotiate, as I told you I would. I am grateful you have treated my brother honorably, and I am grateful for the aid you sent, truly — ”

“He sent you aid?” Laurent, disbelieving.

“My uncle overstepped his bounds,” Auguste cut in. “Even as Regent, he had no right to send a member of the royal family to live in captivity in an enemy nation. He sold the idea to you as a peace offering, no doubt, but as you’ve likely come to see, Laurent is not the ideal candidate for such a situation. I have cousins, you know.”

Damen moved to make himself more comfortable as they spoke, sitting on the steps of the gazebo. “Cousins you care about as much as Laurent? No, I didn’t think so. You’re right. The Regent didn’t send Laurent because he thought it would make our nations better off. And yet, with you as King, it works remarkably well. You love your brother, Auguste.”

“My uncle began stirring dissent in Vere. He did not say as much, but he — insinuated things. That you had demanded Laurent be sent, that it was unreasonable, that the barbaric practice of taking royal hostages hadn’t been done in centuries.”

“It’s a pity your uncle did such a dishonorable thing, sending him away without your consent.”

“Then you agree he should be sent home, yes?”

No, Laurent thought. Damen was not that stupid. Having him was simply too much of an advantage now that Auguste was King of Vere. He felt rather resigned to know that he would not be able to return home. Not now, nor likely ever.

Damen said, “Take him.”

Laurent stared at him in undisguised shock.

“That’s a very generous decision,” Auguste said slowly. “Thank — ”

“No,” Laurent said.

Auguste gripped his arm.

“No?” Damen said. “I didn’t ask your opinion, slave.”

“Because you’ll hear no opinion but your own,” Laurent hissed. “Are you stupid? Your father is dead, your brother a traitor, and you, a newly crowned king. Akielos is weak, and now you want to send your hostage away.”

 _“Laurent_ ,” Auguste said.

“There is a snake in my home,” Damen said, “and you think I’m a fool for sending it away?”

“This isn’t about your hurt feelings, you child. What possible reason could you have for sending me away? Because you’re angry? You know I didn’t kill your father. Because I rid you of Jokaste? She preyed upon me, and likely she preyed upon others as well. Because my brother asked nicely? Because you believe Auguste is a good man and will uphold the peace treaty even if I’m safe?”

Auguste’s grip on his arm had neared bruising strength. “I have no reason to break the treaty.”

“Damen doesn’t know that,” Laurent said. “The entirety of Vere and Akielos don’t know that. People will live in fear of the war beginning again, and fear breeds distrust. Trade will falter. Nobles will become warmongerers. We have been enemies for an age.”

He should not have been saying these things. They were true, all of them, but Laurent had never dealt in truth. He spoke to Damen now as he would speak to a family member: angrily, and without manipulative intent. 

“It’s about what’s right,” Auguste said. “I can’t let you…”

“You,” Laurent said, rounding his brother, “are a bigger idiot than Damen if you think that this has anything to do with what’s right. Peace would have been right ten years ago, and yet the war didn’t immediately end with Father’s death, did it, Auguste? No, you had to leave, to continue wandering Vere with your soldiers. If you cared about what’s right, you would have come home and taken the throne then.”

“Uncle was always better-equipped to deal with controlling a nation — ”

“I was a boy,” Laurent said, “and you _left me alone with him_.”

For a moment, the garden became so still and quiet Laurent could hear his own breathing. All the color had drained from Auguste’s face. Damen was staring at them both in confusion. Auguste said, “But you were family.”

Laurent spoke as it working out a puzzle out loud. "You knew."

"I, I knew he kept boys. But you were his nephew."

"Everyone knew." Laurent's voice had lost all emotion, and he could feel himself drawing back into that hole, that place where he did not throw tantrums, where he did what was necessary, where he plotted and wore a mask and did not scream at kings. "No matter." 

"Laurent, I swear I did not know." 

He could be that person no longer. He had spent too long in Akielos. He stormed down the stairs, and he left. 

As he went, he heard Damen say, “What do you mean, kept boys?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying new and different things. I like Auguste, but having him know and fail to protect Laurent is an interpretation I hadn't seen before. Truthfully, I prefer the idea that he would and could protect Laurent. But. Sometimes life is awful, I guess?
> 
> Hope you're having a great day, people. One more chapter left.


	15. Unspoken

He spent the day cooling off. He was sure he wasn’t supposed to be out wandering the palace, and yet no guards came to lock him away again. Servants whispered behind the backs of their hands to each other, giving him sidelong looks. 

He filched an apple and a knife from the kitchen, then went to the former queen's private gardens. They were empty and small, and the gardeners had been slacking. He climbed a magnolia tree, thick from age, and sat on a branch. He ate, and when he was done he closed his eyes. 

The first indication he had of anyone's presence was the creak of a second person climbed the tree. "Prince Laurent," said a tentative voice. 

"I am a slave," Laurent said patiently. 

"If you say so," said the man, and Laurent looked at him. 

Erasmus looked much as he had the night he'd fallen in Laurent's window: disheveled, a bit frightened, but determined. He sat on a branch slightly below Laurent's. "You're out again," Erasmus said. "I'm glad. His Majesty has been horrible." He blushed. "I mean, a man should not say that about his masters. My king is fair and kind, but he is curt when he is tired."

"You had best hide, then. My presence will only make him more so." 

Erasmus paused. "You are a slave."

"I am."

Erasmus looked away. "Then perhaps it would not be so bad if I spoke to you like I would another slave. Laurent, the king has not been well. No lovers enter his bed. I was the last before you, and he hasn't sent for me since before his coronation. He seems to enjoy nothing. Being a king weighs heavy upon him; this was expected. But, I think, maybe--maybe he did not anticipate doing it without you."

"The fault is entirely his own. I hardly asked to be imprisoned."

"What did you do?"

Laurent looked at him incredulously. "He told no one?" 

Erasmus ducked his head. "No. I, I assumed it was because of Lady Jokaste." He flushed again, deeper. "She returned to the palace for a week. His Highness kept her at arm's length. He had men, kind men, go through the servants and question us. I told them that she had... she had..." He looked stricken.

"She did something to you?" Laurent said. 

"She did. Before she left the first time. They did not blame me. His Highness was very fair. Others came forward after I did. He sent Jokaste away again." And there was that determined look again. "His Highness deserves to be happy. A slave's place is to make it so. Can't you do anything?"

Laurent picked at the bark on the tree. "Perhaps I am not a slave after all." So Damen had never formally charged him with anything, only kept him confined. Why? 

* * *

 

There were a thousand reasons sending him away was a bad idea, so many Laurent could not articulate a single one. He would need a map, a history book, and maybe a club to hit Damen with. He left Erasmus and went to the library. He began to make a list.

_There is no reason to send me home._

_Just because your enemy means well doesn’t mean you should give him what he wants._

_You need me._

_Are you stupid?_

There was a fifth reason, one he refused to let surface. It had something to do with the shape of Damen’s lips, the feel of them. Laurent pushed that feeling aside as well. _This is not about your petty feelings, you child._ Why did he care whether King Damianos made an irrational decision? He crumpled up the paper and threw it away.

He schooled himself to coolness. When he heard the library door quietly open, he arranged himself into a relaxed posture. He did not even glance back. He said, “Auguste, if you’ve come to discuss what I said, you may as well leave.”

“I’m not Auguste,” said Damen.

Laurent calmly closed his book.

Damen said quietly, “I had thought you wanted to return home.”

“Is that why you tried to send me back?” Damen was silent, and Laurent refused to turn around just to see Damen’s expression. His lips pursed. “You want me gone.”

“Yes.”

Laurent picked the list aside from where he’d tossed it, carefully smoothing it out. He handed it to Damen, then left. Or tried to, at least. Damen stepped in the way. Laurent swallowed as Damen backed him into a bookcase, not pressing him there — no, that would knock it over — but blocking him in. To press back would be pushing the bookcase over. He was held there, instead. Damen leaned down, mouth close, and Laurent’s hands fisted in the heavy silk of Damen’s tunic. “You don’t want me,” Laurent said.

“Go back to Vere,” Damen said thickly.

“Why? Because if I don’t, you’ll kiss me? You idiot,” Laurent said. “You fool. You think I’m afraid of you — is that it? You think because you locked me away, I’m going to throw a tantrum.”

“You’re not?”

“I will,” Laurent said. “I will eviscerate you in private. I will ignore you in public. I’ll make you look stupid in front of your own court, if I’m feeling nasty. And once I’m done, the anger will pass, and the fear — there is no fear. You can do nothing to me, you said so yourself.”

"You would be happier in Vere. Your brother cares for you. I understand if you're angry with him. He refused to explain anything, but--" And there was an odd look on Damen's face, like fear. Like he had gathered enough from Laurent's earlier conversation with Auguste that the truth was within reach, and Damen did not want to reach it. "Regardless, he loves you, and your uncle is dead. Go."

"I am not to be executed? Not imprisoned in some lonely tower?" 

"You were right about Jokaste. As for my father's death, the explanation you gave me seems true. The journal has no purpose except to show you did not poison him."

"Why did you lock me away?"

“Because,” Damen said, “because you’re a snake, and because you’re a Veretian and the brother of my enemy, and given the chance I’d _still_ let you in my bed — ” He stopped abruptly, but his sentence sounded unfinished. “If I had let you out, you would have convinced me of your innocence, no matter what the truth. I am weak to you, Laurent. Always, I am weak to you.”

Damen stepped back. They were staring at each other, and Laurent saw then how the torchlight enveloped Damen, warming his skin and darkening his eyes. “I wanted to be sure," Damen said. "I did not dare give you any weapons to defend yourself. I was cruel to you, Laurent. Why do you care what mistakes I make?” 

The truth was behind Laurent’s lips; he held it there. “Isn’t it obvious why?”

“Obvious? You?”

Laurent spoke each word as if it were pulled, unwilling, out of him. “I may be harboring some small amount of affection for you.”

Damen stared at him.

“I’m as shocked as you are,” Laurent said. Followed by, “It isn’t intentional.”

Damen exhaled and laid his head on Laurent’s shoulder. They held like that a while, simply touching, and in time they kissed – not intentionally, no, never that, but as if it were inevitable. Like magnets of opposing poles, they were drawn together. 

Auguste likely wouldn’t understand; likely no one would understand. A king and a slave-prince. Perhaps he was no longer a slave or a prince, nor anything but Laurent anymore. They would think him coerced or they would think Damen a fool. Perhaps that was fine. Perhaps truth was something to be shared privately, between bedsheets and in whispers.

Laurent wasn’t sure. But he thought that perhaps Damen loved him back, and that was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter. Hope this was satisfying, guys. It feels odd to be done with this. Thanks for reading.


	16. Author Note

I have an exciting announcement!

My debut book, Bad Magic, was just published by Dreamspinner Press. If you enjoy m/m fantasy fiction, please check it out. I always love it when two sworn enemies fall in love against their will. The danger! The romance! The lies! The dirty, dirty sex! It's a thing of beauty.

My name is Evelyn Elliott, by the way. I go by Viridian (or ViridianChick) in many places on the internet. I don't normally write fanfiction, but Captive Prince inspired me. Thanks so much for the comments and kudos on this story. It's such a treat to know people are reading my work and enjoying it. 

Here's Bad Magic on [Goodreads](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/26836681-bad-magic?ref=ru_lihp_up_ulv_3_mclk-up2622675355)! And here it is on [Amazon](http://www.amazon.com/Bad-Magic-Evelyn-Elliott-ebook/dp/B016H7FO9Q/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1446048502&sr=8-1&keywords=bad+magic+evelyn+elliott). I'm so excited. 

I also have deleted scenes up on my website. [Click here to read for free.](http://www.evelynelliott.com/search/label/freebie)

Smooches, 

[Evelyn Elliott](http://www.evelynelliott.com/)


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